


The Seeker and her Rogue

by MayaAodhan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:17:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3198560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaAodhan/pseuds/MayaAodhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric and Cassandra have danced around each other since she had him questioned about his previous companions. Then he stayed when he could have left. She struggles with the decisions she has made, and it is the irreverent dwarf who helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moonlight Kisses

“I think you miss your old life, Seeker,” Varric drawled, taking a deep draught of his tankard with a contented sigh.

“I think you need to mind your own business,” Cassandra snarled, slapping her empty drinking vessel down with an irritated grunt.

“All those people who agree with your way of life,” Varric continued as though she hadn’t spoken, leaning back in his chair, booted feet crossed at the ankles. Yes, Seeker, No, Seeker, how high shall I jump, Seeker.”

“I was never that person, and I don’t live with those who think so anymore.” Cassandra spoke from between gritted teeth, her narrowed eyes fixed on her hands clenched before her.

“Geography, Seeker.” Varric waved an indolent hand. “There isn’t a soldier here who wouldn’t try to jump the walls of Haven if you asked it of them.”

Cassandra stood slowly, as though she were weary. “Not all of them.” And she left.

Varric grinned into his tankard. He enjoyed baiting her. One of the few pleasures left. When a big hand clapped down on his shoulder, he jumped.

“Bloody hell, Bull. You scared seven kinds of shit out of me.”

The big qunari took up a seat next to him and leaned back. The chair creaked forbiddingly.

“Playing with fire there, my friend,” Bull said, accepting a tankard from the serving girl.

“Who? The Seeker?” Varric shrugged. “She is uptight, driven, arrogant, and a pain in the ass.”

“You like her.”

Varric snorted. “She had me questioned for days. Those dungeons? Not pleasant, let me tell you.” He waved a warning finger at Bull.

The Iron Bull saluted him with his massive tankard. “And despite that, you like her.”

“I’m a bloody dwarf, Bull,” Varric scoffed.

“Since when does that matter?” Bull stared down at his comparatively diminutive companion with amusement.

“Since humans look at dwarves as quaint little creatures only good for hammers.” Varric was starting to lose his calm, he slapped down his half empty tankard.

“Has Cassandra ever given you any reason to think that she thinks of you that way?”

“She treats me like a bug barely above her notice,” Varric said, crossing his arms over his formidable chest.

“Hah!” Bull snorted. “She treats you no different to anyone else then.” A broad palm clapped Varric on the back. “Chin up, Storyteller. There is hope yet.”

“Hope for what?” Varric was bewildered.

The Iron Bull just laughed.

* * *

She was beating seven kinds of shit out of the practice dummies. Varric tried to ignore it. He had positioned himself near the entry to Haven for one reason only, to see when the so-called Herald of Andraste returned from her latest attempt to garner support for the Inquisition, and not because it gave him a damn fine view of the training grounds.

As the warrior smashed a dummy to pieces, Erien Trevelyan approached Cassandra. Erien regarded the splintered remains with a wrinkle of her nose. She touched the smooth shaft of her staff and tried to ignore the glance given to her by the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. He was distracting. Too bloody distracting. She sighed and approached Cassandra, a woman she was starting to feel might be a friend.

“If you keep doing that, we are going to need to get a supplier for dummies. Why don’t you practice on one of the Commander’s minions. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.” Erien studied the deep chops that Cass was already putting in the next dummy.

“Because Cullen…” Cass neatly sliced off the dummy’s head. “...protested when I left them too bruised and bloody to train.”

Erien leaned on one of the dummies, watching Cass flex her formidable muscles and smash ten kinds of living hell out of the innocent straw filled target.

“So, is there some reason you are beating the shit out of that?”

Cass’s jaw clenched. Erien grinned. Oh yeah. There was a reason.

The sound of rollicking laughter floated across the training field. Erien watched Cass glance up, across at the familiar source of the laughter and give a disgusted snort. Her lips twitched again as she followed the gaze, knowing she would see the dwarf, Varric Tethras, joking with the qunari The Iron Bull on the steps up to the gates of Haven.

“Varric seems to have settled in with the Chargers. They close down the tavern every night,” Erien observed, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.

“I know.” Cassandra’s reply was short. “I should have known he would fit right in with a band of mercenaries.”

“Well, Solas is hardly the conversational type he tends to prefer, and Vivienne is…” Erien’s hand waves idly.

“...not the sort to frequent taverns,” Cassandra lowered her weapon with a sigh, sheathing it with practiced ease.

“So it makes sense.” Erien shrugged. “Feel up to meeting up with Josie with me? She wanted me to touch base before we head to Redcliffe.”

“No.” Cassandra rubbed her furrowed brow with her fingertips. “I have to go and speak with Cullen.”

“Okay. Talk to you later.” Erien gave that half smile at Cassandra before heading for the stairs.

Cassandra watched the Herald depart, with just a little bit of affection in her heart. She couldn’t help but like the younger woman. She was quick witted, a little sarcastic with morons, but kind. Above all, so kind. Cassandra rubbed the back of her neck and couldn’t help but smile when she saw Cullen follow the woman with his eyes.

When she glanced back, her gaze clashed with Varric’s. He was watching her with amusement on his face. Maker’s bloody breath. He probably thought she was pining for the Commander now. She huffed out her annoyance and strode toward Cullen, now focused back on training the new recruits.

* * *

Varric ratcheted Bianca’s mechanism and sighted down the barrel at a mage. A soft whistle from the Herald at his side let him know she was ready. He loosed the quarrel and they heard the mage give a grunt of pain and topple over.

“Nice,” the Herald drawled, her power gathering around her and with a flick of her staff, directed it at an archer perched precariously atop a roof.

War cries erupted around them. He heard Cassandra curse, then answer the cries with one of her own. For a time they were surrounded. He moved around the battlefield, flanking the enemies that Cassandra had gathered around her, firing into vulnerable backs. He couldn’t help but admire the way she moved, handling the three bandits surrounding her with ease.

He put an arrow through the shoulder of the last bandit, Cassandra finishing him off with a slice of her weapon.

The last blast of fire from the Herald smashed harmlessly into the rocks below where he stood.

“Nice work, Seeker,” Varric said, slipping the safety back on Bianca.

Cassandra studied him for a moment, her eyes bright with adrenalin, breathing hard. A faint flush rode high on the sharp blade of her cheekbones. Varric couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was magnificent. And she broke his gaze first to reply to the Herald.

Iron Bull leaned on the lump of metal that passed for his weapon, towering over Varric as he studied the two women where they spoke over the bodies piled around them.

“You’re drooling, Storyteller.”

Varric thumped the back of his fist into Iron Bull’s solid belly. “Shut up.”

“Hey,” Iron Bull grunted. “Just saying.”

Varric grimaced and scowled, mounting Bianca back onto its holster. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s get going. We have a rift to close.”

Iron Bull hefted his war axe onto his shoulder with a grin and followed the stout dwarf toward Erien and Cassandra.

* * *

Varric wrinkled his nose, murmuring to himself as he paced his little room. He couldn’t write. This had never happened before. The walls were suffocating him. He needed fresh air. Fresh mountain air and a perspective not found at the bottom of a tankard of ale.

Haven was quiet. The tavern was shut down and only the night shift of guards standing at their posts was his only company. He grimaced thoughtfully. Where to go...where to go… and brightened.

The little rocky overlook beside the chantry. He could look out over the frozen mountains and the lake and clear the cobwebs from his brain. He tucked his chin into the collar of his lined coat and trudged up the path to the outcrop.

He nearly groaned aloud. He wasn’t alone after all. A tall figure rendered shapeless by a cloak stood surveying the realm. He didn’t want conversation. He didn’t want company. And with slow movements, Varric moved to depart.

“You don’t have to leave, Varric.” The Nevarran accent froze him in his retreat.

“And here I thought my company was distasteful,” Varric drawled, gathering his wits. “Colour me surprised, Seeker.”

“Your company is not distasteful, Varric.” Cassandra said wearily, shrugging deeper into her cloak. “But your animosity toward me grows tiresome.”

“Animosity?” Varric took a few steps forward. He peered at Cassandra’s face. “You were the one who held me in that damn dungeon, remember?”

Cassandra raised a hand to her brow, rubbing the deep lines that were almost permanently etched there. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“The ‘right thing’?” Varric snorted. “Seeker, if this is your definition of the ‘right thing’ I would really hate to see your version of being very, very naughty.” He paused. Cleared his throat. That phrase brought an image to mind that he hadn’t intended.

“Despite that, you stayed.”

“Where am I gonna go?” Varric held his arms wide, encompassing Haven. “At least here, I might help. Out there? Out where there are bloody great holes in the sky?” He shook his head. “At least I can help keep the Herald safe.”

“Thank you, Varric.” She spoke and once again her voice was bleak.

Varric frowned again. This whole interaction was messing with his calm, impervious nature. “Alright, what’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Why does something have to be wrong?” She wasn’t looking at him, she wasn’t calling him an idiot. She was …

“Damn right something is wrong.” Varric planted himself beside her, peering up into the fur lined hood.

“Look, I’m just feeling a bit… out of sorts, alright.” Cassandra folded her arms over her chest, annoyance colouring her tone.

“You must be,” Varric said drily. “‘Out of sorts’ huh?”

Cassandra sighed and lowered herself to sit on a rocky ledge, which brought her to about his eye height. With shadows no longer cast on her austere features, she looked a little less ethereal, and a little more like the severe, sharp tempered Cassandra Pentagast he knew and loved to torment. She tugged back the hood, and leaned her elbows on her knees, clasping her gloved hands together.

“I just…” she began, and let out an irritated huff.

He found himself enfolding her clenched hands in one of his. For a warrior, her hands were slender. Strong, but fine boned. “Look, Seeker-” he began.

“Cassandra,” she interrupted, staring down at their joined hands.

“What?”

“My name. It’s Cassandra. Not ‘Seeker’. I don’t call you ‘rogue’ or ‘writer’.”

“You have called me much worse.” He grinned at her when she glanced at him. The corner of her mouth twitched.

“And you have deserved it,” she replied drily. “But here, could you call me by my name?”

“Sure. Cassandra.” He tested it out. The sibilant consonants were an unusual pleasure. A gentle name for a warrior such as she. “So Cassandra, why do you feel out of sorts?”

“I wonder if I made the right decision. Invoking the Inquisition.” She turned her hand over in his and studied the contrast in size.

“You didn’t have much choice,” Varric shrugged, his bare thumb soothing across the leather clad palm of hers. He didn’t often feel the cold. Her breath was coming in white clouds. She must be freezing despite her layers.

“I had a choice,” she contradicted, and sighed. “And now half of Thedas would cheerfully see me executed for my temerity.”

“Seeker… Cassandra,” Varric said carefully. “I’m going to tell you something, but I will deny I ever said a damn thing if you tell anyone. Including the Herald.”

Cassandra looked at him curiously, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. “What?”

“You are the strongest, most self assured person I have ever met. You want to know why I stayed? Not because I believe in any Herald of Andraste. Sure, Erien can close those rifts, and somehow she gets some of the strangest folks to follow her just because she is so damned nice.” He touched Cassandra’s chin with his forefinger, and studied her face. “I stayed because I believed in you, Cassandra Pentaghast. Even when you have levelled all kinds of crimes at my head…” He smiled crookedly. “...To be fair, some of them were true. But even then, I believed in you. I still do.”

His smile faded as she continued to stare at him, a bewildered expression on her face.

He cleared his throat. “Say something.”

When her fist curled into the fabric of his coat, he thought for a moment, he might have pissed her off and she was about to deck him. When he was yanked forward and their lips awkwardly clashed, his brain took several moments to catch up. Which was probably why, when he came to his senses, his hand had cupped the back of her neck and he had slanted his lips over hers, turning awkward into sensual.

When his brain caught up, it was screaming at him. This is the Seeker! This is Cassandra! She is going to eviscerate you!

But she had kissed him first.

Fuck it.

His other arm slid around her narrow back and yanked her close. Her mouth opened under his, and he tasted of her. She was ...delicious. Honey mead, icy air and her.

When they broke apart to take in air, Cassandra’s eyes were closed, her breath washing over his lips.

“Well that was unexpected,” Varric drawled, his thumb tracing the well kissed curve of her lips.

Cassandra’s eyes snapped open, her breath coming in short gasps. She blinked at him owlishly and he knew, just knew, that regret was souring her gut. She had kissed the dwarf and now she was embarrassed as hell. He thought to make it easy on her.

“Don’t worry about it.” He gave her that crooked grin that told her he wouldn’t take the kiss seriously. “It’s been a tough week. I will give you a free pass on that one.”

She stood up shakily. He stepped back.

“I apologise,” she said finally. “That was unacceptable of me.” Without waiting for a reply, she walked stiffly down the hill toward the chantry.

Varric watched the proud woman throw back her shoulders, tip her chin high and head toward the chantry doors with that ground eating stride of hers. He groaned to himself and drove his fingers into his hair. It was loose from its tie. He was sure he had secured it earlier. He couldn’t help but smile again.

And the cobwebs were gone.

He had an idea for a new chapter.

The maiden was not going to sit and wait for the hero. Oh no. She was going to get out there and kick some ass. His smile broadened again as he stared out over Haven, his arms crossed over his broad chest. And when she kissed the hero, she was going to make him go weak at the knees. Varric cleared his throat again. Not that it had happened to him. That momentary weakness was just tiredness. That’s all it was. He paused thoughtfully before clambering back down to head for his rooms.


	2. One Right Thing

Varric scowled into the depths of his barely touched tankard. She hadn’t met his gaze once in the past few days. Not once. Erien had left him behind while she headed into the Hinterlands. She wanted to see how the new guy, the Vint, handled himself. He had stood on the steps of Haven, listening to The Iron Bull and Krem joking and laughing, but for once not participating himself, as the Herald, Cassandra, the Vint and Sera rode off on horseback. He wondered if Cassandra had asked for Erien to take Sera so that she wouldn’t have to see him.   
“What’s wrong?” Krem sat down beside Varric.  
“Nothing, kid.” He took a long draught of the tankard for want of something to do, rather than an actual desire to drink the bitter brew.  
“Well that’s a load of horseshit.” Krem replied in his goodnatured way.   
“Stuck for the next bit of my book.” Varric clunked the tankard down, and studied the fine boned features of the Tevinter mercenary. “Got any ideas?”  
“What’s it about?”  
“Great love. Grand adventure.” Varric waved an expansive arm.   
Krem rose a brow. “And…”  
Varric sighed, propping his chin on one solid palm. “And the heroes just won’t behave. The man can’t seem to keep his mouth shut long enough to stay out of trouble with the woman. The woman is bull headed, with more sharp edges than the Chargers has weapons.”  
“So change their personalities,” Krem said with a careless shrug. “You are the writer.”  
“Not that simple, kid. This is the story.”  
“Alright, so where’re you stuck?”  
“Fate has conspired to toss them both together.” Varric slapped his palms together. “There is the attraction between them both, but … “ He then drew two fingers through a smear of condensation on the tabletop, leading away from each other. “...they can’t stay long together before duties take them elsewhere. I can’t figure out how I’m going to ...” His fingers traced a full circle back again. “... get them together.”  
“One of ‘em gets hurt. If they gave a shit about each other, the other one would be there.”  
Varric winced. “Sounds painful.”   
Krem accepted his tankard of ale from Flissa, blushing only a little when the woman winked and blew him a kiss. He took a sip to prevent the excess from slopping over the sides while he walked back to the Chargers’ table. He looked down at Varric.  
“Coming to join us tonight?”  
“Huh? Uhh … no. Thanks, kid. I got stuff to do.” Varric drained his tankard. He rose to his feet and shoved his hands into the pockets of his breeches. He tossed the money on the bar for Flissa and headed out. 

“Somethin’s square up the arse of the dwarf,” Krem said as he took a seat.   
Bull snorted with laughter. “You don’t know the half of it.”  
“Huh?”  
Bull grinned widely. “Let me tell you a bedtime story, Krem.”

Some minutes later.

“Really?” Krem glanced at the door, a look of surprise on his face. “But … she’s so… so… “ He waved a hand.   
“I know.” Bull leaned back in satisfaction.   
“I figured she hated him after that deal with Hawke.”  
“Ain’t too much between love and hate sometimes.” Bull shrugged.   
“Huh.” Krem huffed his surprise. “Well, maybe he can get her to mellow out a little.”

Varric heard tell of the return of the adventurers from Solas. The elf had just returned from meeting with Leiliana and saw their tired entry into Haven about an hour ago, along with the Grey Warden they had been sent to question. He tapped his pencil rapidfire on the tiny desk that served as his writing space. No. He was not going to go down there and make a twit of himself.   
He tapped the pencil again. When the point snapped he tossed it aside and glared at the poorly written prose on the sheets of paper in front of him. Screw it.   
He stood up and picked up his thick coat, shrugging into it with jerky movements. He was just going down to find out if there was any good tales. Not to see a particular snarky, snippy, grumpy Seeker.

The chantry was quiet. Only a single guard on duty nodding to him as Varric passed by. The place was bloody cold with only a couple of braziers lit. He made his way to the war room. Maybe they were still there.   
He tipped the door open and nearly withdrew. The room was dim and silent, the only light the low fire in its hearth. They must have headed off soon after the arrival. His lip curled in disappointment. He would have to wait until morning. Varric took a step back, and knocked into the small, spindly legged table that held some depressing tome. The book toppled off the table and thudded to the ground.   
“Damn.” He bent to pick it up and stilled as a tired voice came from a chair before the hearth.   
“Who’s there?” The Navarran accent was even thicker.  
“It’s me, Seeker. Your favourite author and general reprobate.”  
Long legs swung down from their perch on the arm of the chair. On stockinged feet, Cassadra rose, her usual attire of armour discarded for an undershirt and thick coat.   
“What are you doing here?” she asked, knuckling the sleep from her eyes.  
“Was hoping to catch the Herald. You know, find out what grand tale of adventure took place.”  
Cassandra approached and leaned against the war table. She rubbed the back of her neck. “We got access to the Winterwatch Tower.” Her voice was sharply disapproving.  
Varric raised a pale brow. “And … “  
“It is a cult. Castoffs from the Chantry.” Cassandra folded her arms before her. “They believe the Chant of Light is a lie and the rift in the sky is the Maker about to uplift them all to the Golden City.”  
“Really…” Varric drawled out the reply. “And I assume you disabused them of that notion?”  
Her glittering dark eyes met his with a clash. He returned her regard with steady equanimity. “What do you mean?” Her voice was tight.  
“Well, as the Right Hand of the Divine,” Varric shrugged. “You more than anyone could supply the evidence that the rift had nothing to do with the Maker.”  
“I don’t have any such evidence,” Cassandra replied flatly.  
“You have your faith, Seeker.”  
“I have enough on my plate than adding to it by trying to convince a group of radicals that … that …” She looked away from him, hiding her face in half shadow.   
Varric frowned. “What happened, Seeker? What has you hiding away here in the dark?”  
When she spoke again, her voice sounded thick to his ears, as though choked with an emotion she struggled against. “A man. A man was waiting for his lover to join him there. We found her body… “ Cassandra gestured vaguely. “... She almost made it. A few hours at the most and she would have been safe.”  
Varric reached out and laid his broad palm on her forearm. “Lot of folks have had a tough time of it, Seeker. Lot of folks die and we can’t do much about it. You let this one get to you. Why?”  
Cassandra gaze was lowered, but she didn’t shrug him off. “I guess … I suppose … “ She sighed. “I just wished we could have helped. I just wanted one thing to go right.”  
“Seeker,” he paused. “Cassandra.” He reached up and touched her lightly on the chin. Her gaze met his again, and he almost flinched at the sadness within. He took a huffing breath. “Ahh, I’m sorry.”   
Even leaning against the table, she towered over him, but he enfolded her lean torso in his arms. She was stiff at first, and then relented. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He could feel the strength in them, and the vulnerability of the moment. He didn’t want to screw this up. So he did the only thing he figured he should do - he shut up. Her hands were cold on his neck. He could feel when she dropped her cheek onto his head. He rubbed his palm down her back, soothing.   
The Seeker took several shaking breaths. She didn’t weep, he wasn’t even sure she had it in her. But she held him tight as though he was keeping her from the sorrow that plagued her. How long had she been bottling it up? The Divine? The Conclave? The Seekers? The people of Haven? Those that came in through the gates day after day, pledging their lives to the Inquisition? How much of this was she taking on?  
Varric was the last to let go. He let her decide how much she needed to take. When she leaned back, she stared up at the ceiling for a moment, taking a deep, shaking breath, her hands still resting on his shoulders. They dropped to her sides finally, and he took that as indication he should step back.   
“Thank you, Varric.” Her voice was low, husky. It made him clear his throat.  
“No problem, Seeker.” He plastered a wide smile on his face. “All part of the service. If you want to lay one on me …” He tapped his cheek. “ … I won’t say no either.”  
Cassandra straightened and made a snorting noise.   
“No?” Varric held up his palms, with a look of mock disappointment on his face. “I’m disappointed, Seeker.”  
“Hmph,” Cassandra headed for the door and held it open. “See you tomorrow, Varric.”  
“You got it.” Varric gave her a cheeky grin.   
She would be alright. Varric rammed his hands into the pockets of his breeches and stalked back to his rooms. It was cold as hell, but he still felt warm.


	3. Anger Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - While I usually try to do the scenes that we don't see, this time I have stolen unashamedly the words of the talented Bioware writers. I could only aspire to be that good at wringing every ounce of emotion from my audience.

Haven had fallen.  
Varric sat shivering before the fire with his head in his hands.   
Erien had fallen.   
There was no hope. An archdemon and a Vint aspiring to godhood with the old ‘take over the world’ ploy.   
So why hadn’t he gone? Why hadn’t he just packed up his gear and headed off to enjoy what small time he had left?   
He stared across the flames at the four people who were trying to make some sense and organisation of this mess. Bull lowered himself down beside Varric.  
“Well, this has all gone to shit,” he drawled.  
“Pretty much.” Varric prodded the fire with a booted foot. “What will you do now?”  
Bull peered down at Varric. “Me? Well…” He scratched his bare chest. “I reckon I might stick around a little longer. They paid me pretty well, and I figure there is still going to be a decent amount of killing to do with all those little red buggers out there.”  
Varric snorted. “You think it will last that long?”  
Iron Bull rumbled low in his chest. “Oh, I think that lot will get their shit together once the shock has worn off.”  
“With the Herald resembling itty bitty bits under the rubble of Haven, that could be a moot point. How will we close the rifts?”  
Iron Bull shrugged. “Damned if I know, dwarf. But I figure if anyone has a chance of figuring it out, it is going to be that lot.”  
Varric watched the advisors speak in low voices in their tent. He studied the bent shoulders of the Seeker, her bowed head and clasped hands. He had stood beside her as the mountain was brought down over Haven. He had heard her low cry as the Herald faced down the monstrous archdemon and the bastard Vint. He had touched her hand briefly, and she had returned the gesture with a fierce squeeze, before raising her voice above the din in the Chantry.   
Then it had been chaos for many long hours. The temporary encampment was deep in the Frostbacks. Everyone hoped against hope that they had some breathing room. That they could find somewhere to go.   
The cold went deep into the hearts of all, sapping strength and will. Varric took a turn on watch, huddled into the depths of his coat. The sound of footsteps through the snow drew his eye and a tall, lean form in thick winter robes stood beside him.   
“Doing alright there, Seeker?” Varric asked, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the horizon and the whirling winds of the mountains.  
“Between you and me, Varric, I don’t know what I am.”  
“You?” Varric quirked a brow. “I thought you would have Plan A, Plan B and Plan C, D and E ready to go. Isn’t that your deal?”  
Cassandra gave a snort of laughter. “Maker’s breath, Varric. If only that were true.”  
“It’s not? And here I was resting all my hopes and dreams that you had an instant fix for the mess we are in.”   
“You might want to put those hopes somewhere else.” Her voice went quiet.  
Varric huffed a breath. “Seeker, we are all still here.”  
“Not all of us.”  
“You can’t put that on you. Not any of it. All that belongs on that tall streak of shit that thought dealing in red lyrium was a currency he was willing to fuck with.” Varric gestured out toward the south. Back toward what remained of Haven.  
Cassandra chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip.   
“We are all here.” Varric touched his chest. “I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me I’m no longer needed. Me. Tiny. The Chargers. Sparkler. All of us. We are with you and the others, right to the end.”   
Cassandra smiled slightly at that. “You might regret that.”  
Varric laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Oh, I already do, Seeker. But that’s what us heroes do, right?”  
“Oh? You are a hero now?” Cassandra rose an imperious brow.   
“Sure.” Varric drawled. “That’s how I’m going to write it, anyway.” He couldn’t keep the smile off his lips at the look on her face. “Heroes saving the fucking world, Seeker. It will be a bestseller.”  
“Only you would think of that.” Cassandra shook her head.  
“Of course.”   
A shout went up. Cassanda reached out blindly and clutched at Varric’s arm. He covered her hand with his and peered out into the distant gloom. After a while, he whistled.   
“Seeker, I think one big chunk of problem has been solved. Looks like the Herald has walked out of the rubble.”   
“Varric…”   
He could hear the hope in her voice. “Go on down. They will need you. She will need you.” He patted her hand.   
She took a step away, toward the lights of the encampment. She glanced back. He gave her a grin and a nod.   
“Plan A, B and C, Seeker.” He winked at her.   
“I’m on it. Thank you, Varric.”  
“For what?” He was puzzled.   
“For being you. All of this, you stay the same. The same Varric. I can rely on that. I can rely that you will be you.”   
Varric held his arms out wide and bowed low. “As my lady commands.”  
She smiled and strode swiftly down the overlook. Varric watched the Commander carrying Erien into camp as though he held a precious cargo. He watched as Cassandra gave orders for healers and blankets.   
The same ol’ Varric? He huffed a quiet laugh. If only she knew.

She was pissed at him. Not just a little irked. Not just a bit annoyed. She was full of vengeance and wrath that was mighty to behold and had him ducking a blow. He held up his hands in supplication, but she grabbed him around the throat and rammed him against the table.   
Hawke.   
The betrayal in Cassandra’s face had made all that frustration and anger at him boil to the surface.   
“You knew where Hawke was all along!”  
“You’re damn right I did.” Varric shoved her backward and she stumbled back, surprised by the strength.   
“You conniving little shit!” she snarled, and swung a right cross at his head. He ducked and scrambled away, putting the table between them.  
“You kidnapped me,” Varric protested. “ You interrogated me! What did you expect?”  
The Inquisitor crashed into the room, anger darkening her features. Varric felt a twinge of guilt. Much had fallen on her young shoulders these past couple of weeks. Her smiles and kindnesses had come fewer and further between. And here he was, all but in a fist fight with the woman who spent most of her time protecting the mage’s ass out in the field.   
“Enough!” Erien snarled.  
“Are you taking his side?” Cassandra pointed at Varric, her breath coming in angry gasps.   
“I’m on no one’s side.” Erien’s voice was still hard as she tracked between the two. “Explain yourselves.”  
“We needed someone to lead the Inquisition.” Cassandra’s hands were still balled into fists. “Hawke was our only hope. She was the Champion of Kirkwall. The mages respected her.” Her dark eyes turned on Varric, the fury in them not quite hiding the pain. “And you kept her from us.”  
Varric growled low in his chest. He narrowed his eyes at Cassandra and looked up at Erien. The Inquisitor had chopped off her long, dark locks into a short uneven style that she claimed was easier to care for. The reality was that much of it had burned during the battle for Haven, when her world had collapsed. A wisdom belied by her youth surprised him still, and the weight of her losses had given her a gravitas she had not carried before.   
“We have a leader.” His voice gentled. The Inquisitor looked down at him, surprise on her face.  
“Hawke could have been at the Conclave.” Cassandra’s voice was wounded. Varric’s heart broke a little. Now he understood. “If anyone could have saved Most Holy…”  
“Varric’s not responsible for what happened at the Conclave.” Erien’s voice went soft.   
Cassandra stared up at the ceiling for a moment, her hands still fisted at her sides. Still needing the fight so she wouldn’t have to feel the sorrow.  
“I was protecting my friend.” Varric shook his head.   
Cassandra snapped her gaze to him, and spoke, her voice harsh. “Varric is a liar, Inquisitor. A snake.”   
Varric’s eyes narrowed. He leaned a heavy fist on the table, struggling to maintain his calm.   
“Even after the Conclave when we needed Hawke the most, Varric kept her a secret.”  
“She’s with us now, we are on the same side.” Varric broke into her diatribe, unable to keep the chill from his voice. He had thought, he had hoped, she might have been different. Might have understood after their quiet moments together. He guessed that duty came before all else. Who was he compared to Hawke, after all?  
“We all know whose side you’re on, Varric,” Cassandra’s voice was almost hoarse. “And it will never be the Inquisition’s.”   
“Attacking him now won’t help anything, Cassandra,” Erien chided the Seeker.   
“Exactly,” Varric growled.   
“And you ...” The Inquisitor rounded on him. “... had better not be keeping anything else from us.”  
“Bah!” Varric threw up his hands, but dropped his chin down. He had done this badly. He should have said something earlier. “I understand.”  
Cassandra turned away as though to look upon him was painful. She leaned on a railing overlooking the stairs up to the tower. Her voice was low and sad again. He had put that there.   
“I must not think about what could have been. We have so much at stake.” She bowed her head. “Go, Varric. Just … go.”  
Varric hesitated, glanced up at Erien. She nodded, disappointment in him shadowing her expression. He knew how she felt. He headed for the stairs.  
“You know what I think?” His voice was loud in the silence of the tower. The wind hurled its anger against the battlements. “I think if Hawke had been at the Conclave, she would be dead too. You people have done enough to her.”  
He didn’t wait to find out how this parting volley had been received, and headed downstairs on leaden feet.

Cassandra listened to his retreating footsteps and knew she had gone too far. Her temper had gotten the better of her and she had said hurtful things that she wasn’t even certain were true anymore. She dropped her forehead down to her clenched hands and shouted once, a long, loud ‘AHHHHH’ that did little to ease her frustration.   
When she lifted her head she realised Erien had not departed with Varric. She took a deep, calming breath and hissed it out between her teeth. Calm. She had to project calm competency for the Inquisitor.   
“I believed him.” Cassandra spoke hoarsely around the lump in her throat that threatened to choke her. “He spun his story for me, and I swallowed it.”   
Erien was watching her with unexpected sympathy. Somehow that made it worse. The foul things she had said to Varric, she couldn’t take them back now. He had stayed, hadn’t he? And when he trusted them, trusted her, he had sent word to Hawke. She turned around and leaned back on the railing. It creaked ominously under her weight.  
Erien made a soft sound that was something like agreement.   
“If I’d just explained what was at stake … if I’d made him understand. But I didn’t, did I?” It was a bitter pill she had to take, facing her own shortcomings. Realising why it was not she who could lead these people, why it could never have been her. “I didn’t explain why we needed Hawke.”  
She walked across the tiny chamber and sat on a bench. Erien joined her, meeting her gaze with steady equanimity.   
Cassandra couldn’t help but admire the woman. She inspired loyalty. She inspired faith. She had inspired her faith when it had faltered after the Divine’s death. Even though the mage had scoffed at the notion of the woman in the Fade being Andraste, Cassandra felt, no, she knew, that the Maker’s hand was in this, guiding Erien Trevelyan to lead them to victory. She dropped her eyes to her hands, her strong, scarred hands that had known little, until recently, but the grip of her weapons and the heft of her shield. Until recently. She thought of the comforting touch of Varric’s hand as they had watched Haven fall. She open and closed that hand. He had become … what? A friend? Something more? And what had she done? For the sake of a decision he had made before they, no, she had earned his trust, she had lashed out in misplaced betrayal.  
“I am such a fool,” Casssandra said quietly. Not was a fool. She is a fool. In so many ways.  
Erien smiled slightly. “What if you hadn’t believed him? What if you had tracked Hawke down?”  
“Honestly, Hawke might not have agreed to become Inquisitor. She supported the mage rebellion but she wouldn’t have trusted me for a second.” She touched her chest, the sigil of the Seekers displayed proudly. “But this isn’t about Hawke. Or even Varric. Not truly.”  
Erien studied Cassandra’s face, her brows drawing together, a questioning look in her eyes.   
“I should have been more careful.” Cassandra shook her head. “I should have been smarter.” Her voice strengthened, a little of her self loathing projecting into her tone. “I don’t deserve to be here.”   
Erien smiled gently, a little amusement in her tone. She laid her hand over Cassandra’s. “Have you looked at our Inquisition, Cassandra? We’re all fools here.”  
Cassandra couldn’t help but return that smile, just a little. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she said dryly.  
Erien squeezed her soft palm, and warmth crept into Cassandra’s cold hands. “More at home, maybe?” Her eyes twinkled.  
Cassandra hesitated, staring down at their joined hands for a moment, a flood of friendship for this woman filling her heart and surprising her. “I regret nothing, you know. Maybe if we had found Hawke or the Hero of Ferelden, the Maker wouldn’t have needed to send you. But he did.” Cassandra withdrew her hands. She hoped she was going to say the next part right. “You’re not what I’d pictured. But if I have learned anything, it is that I know less than nothing.” She grimaced self deprecatingly at Erien’s sudden laugh. She flushed a little.  
“I’m glad I’m here too, Cassandra.”   
They both stood, a little awkwardly in the wake of the revelations. Erien broke the silence first.  
“What will you do about Varric? I don’t want two of my best team snarking off each other. I need you both to go with me to deal with the Grey Wardens.”   
Casssandra scowled thoughtfully. “I think…” she hesitated, and glanced up. “I think it best if you take Blackwall for this.” She held up her hand to stay the protests that had sprung from Erien’s lips. “I will talk to Varric, I promise. But I’m not the right one to go with you. Not for this.”  
“I want you there, Cassandra.” Erien spoke firmly, brooking no protest. “The details can wait.”  
“As the Inquisitor wishes.” Cassandra bowed her head.

"Cassandra has calmed down. I think you can take your hand off your crossbow."  
Varric glanced up at the Inquisitor, leaning on the table set before the hearth in the main hall of Skyhold that he had made his own. "Define ‘calmed down’ for me in terms of who or what she is punching right now.”  
Erien laughed. Varric quirked a faint smile before growing serious. He pushed back to stand upright.  
“I wasn’t trying to keep secrets.” He held up his hand, twisting his mouth into a moue of apology. “I told the Inquisition everything that was important at the time.”  
“I know, Varric. But talk to Cassandra. She feels …. well, you will see.” Erien’s smile was sympathetic.   
Varric glanced aside and squinted into the flames that crackled in the hearth, lending poor warmth to the soaring room. “I keep hoping that none of this is real. Maybe it’s all some bullshit from the Fade and it will all just disappear.” He sighed and ran his palm over the scruff on his jaw. “I know I need to do better, Inquisitor.”   
He lapsed into silence for a moment, and realised why the Inquisitor was so good at her job. She didn’t have to say anything, just asked a pointed question and listened.   
“I know you will,” she said softly, and turning, left him to his thoughts.  
Varric winced, folded his arms across his chest and glared at the fire.


	4. Reconciliation

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that sand sucks.” Varric pulled off his armoured coat and dropped it unceremoniously over a branch. It hung in a limp, sweaty pile. He wrinkled his nose and rubbed the back of his neck. His skin felt gritty. “I want to bathe for a week.”  
“Aww, it’s not so bad, Storyteller.” Iron Bull grinned at Varric, tugging his own heavy leather pauldron from his shoulder and dropping it over his pack. “At least the water will be warm. Skyhold has it’s charms, but indoor plumbing isn’t one of them.”  
Varric’s voice was muffled as he yanked his silk tunic over his head and held it bunched in one hand. “Sand. In all the crevices, Tiny.”  
Iron Bull rumbled a laugh, his massive armoured belt clunking to the ground. “Sunshine on that pasty, pale skin, dwarf. Get yourself a bit of colour.”  
“I like my pasty, pale skin untoasted, thank you.” Varric scowled, then his eyes widened. He slapped a hand over his eyes. “Bull, do me a favour and keep on your underwear.”  
Bull snorted. “I don’t wear any.”  
“Maker’s balls.” Varric sighed. “Fine.”   
“Bare arsed naked, then strut. Make Cassandra blush!”  
A broad palm clapped Varric on the shoulder. The qunari mercenary gave a woop, and charged into the still waters of the oasis. Varric peeked from between his fingers and sighed with relief. He hitched his thumbs into his breeches and hesitated. Just because the Qun was … proportional didn’t mean he had anything to be ashamed about. Fuck it.   
He yanked, and headed straight for the pool. The oasis water was a soothing balm and he dove into the depths. When he came up, he realised there was the sound of cheering and applause. The Inquisitor was perched on a low tree branch, munching on an apple. She, too, had removed her armour and was lazily swinging one booted foot. Cassandra had her back to the tree, her nose buried in a battered novel. She wasn’t watching.   
“Inappropriate, Inquisitor!” Varric grinned as her piercing wolf whistle echoed around the oasis.   
“Hah!” Erien drawled. “How’s the water?”  
“Like silk,” Varric replied, splashing his face, his broad shoulders pale against the dark waters.  
“A shame we can’t just transport it home.”  
Varric cupped his hands. Erien grinned and lowered the apple.   
“Don’t you dare…” she warned. “Cassandra!”  
“What?” Cassandra glanced up irritably, just in time to get half the water intended for Erien splashed over her and her book.   
Silence descended as Varric winced. “Cassandra …” he began.  
Erien grimaced at Varric. Cassandra had been spiky and short tempered this journey. They would meet the main forces at Adamant in two days.   
Cassandra stood, brushing the water from her book. Her face was pale and grim in the late afternoon sun. She flicked a glance at Varric before striding off for her tent.   
Varric’s face twisted in a rictus of thought and regret.   
“Still mad at you, huh?” Erien said softly.   
Varric shrugged helplessly. “I deserve it, I guess.”   
“Did you talk to her before we left?”  
“Yeah.” Varric sliced his hands through the water.   
“Hmmm.” Erien glanced at Cassandra’s tent.   
Iron Bull, oblivious to the interaction, rose from the waters with a roar, grabbed Varric and took him down under the surface. 

Cassandra could hear the pitched battle outside in the oasis waters. Shouts of glee, swearing and Erien’s laughter had her closing her eyes. She had tossed aside the book she was barely reading and lay back on the furs that served as her bed. Wild druffalo couldn’t have dragged the fact she had found the disrobing by the oasis distracting as hell. She had re-read the same paragraph five times before Varric’s horseplay had given her the excuse to leave.   
She covered her eyes with the crook of her elbow and cursed herself when her mind wandered.  
Broad chest with far more body hair than she preferred. Strong, muscular arms, big, solid hands with callouses on the fingers. She preferred tall, slender men with refined manners, damn it. Not snarky, lying, assholes like Varric Tethras.   
Her hand clenched into a fist. 

She had fallen asleep. When Cassandra woke, her eyes were gummed shut with dust, her body still held the sheen of sweat from the day’s riding. She could smell her odour and it was revolting. She thought longingly of the oasis waters.   
The camp was quiet. Erien’s light snores competed with the sounds of night insects. No sound from Bull or Varric’s tents. Cassandra hesitated. Screw it.   
She clambered from her cot and headed for the oasis. Her bare feet revelled in the cool golden sand. The desert had little warmth left in it from the day, and a light breeze lifted the lank strands of her hair.   
She tugged her shirt over her head, dropping it in the sand. She would wash it later, it would be dry by morning. Her breeches clung to her sweaty body and it was with relief she peeled them off. She tugged at the lacings of the close vest she wore and removed it, but left her smallclothes on.   
The water was glorious. She dove under the surface and felt the stickiness of her skin cleanse. When she surfaced, she reached up and unpinned the braid that was her only sop to feminine graces. It dropped down her back in a heavy tail and she reached up to untangle the strands.   
“Don’t get mad, but I’m not staring.” Varric’s gravelly voice had her dropping below the surface of the water, her eyes narrowing, searching the darkness for him.   
He stood by her discarded clothing, his eyes ridiculously shaded by a hand. She sighed her annoyance.   
“What do you want, Varric?” She injected the snap into her tone that she had adopted to speak to him of late. “And Maker’s breath, drop your hand. I’m not a prude and you look like an idiot.”  
“I wanted to talk. And this seemed the best way.” He dropped his hand, and kept his eyes on hers. “I figured you might not run away if you were mostly naked.”  
“Charming,” she said dryly. “Alright.” She gestured in the water. “Speak your piece.”  
“You are still angry with me.”  
She opened her mouth to retort, but stopped when he held up a pleading hand.   
“Let me finish before you yell at me. I gotta get this off my chest, I don’t want to go into Adamant without clearing this up.”  
Cassandra hesitated, then nodded wordlessly.   
“I fucked up. But I figured I had good reason. I didn’t know you. I sure as hell didn’t trust you.” Varric propped his hands on his hips and scuffed his hastily tugged on boots into the sand. He continued. “Hawke was my friend first. She saved my ass so many times I lost count. I figured I saved hers a time or two, but the balance was squarely in her favour. So I owed her. The figures couldn’t be balanced by that one act, but I figure she had earned my loyalty.”  
“Friendship isn’t about checks and balances, Varric.” The Nevarran accent was odd in this setting and had him glancing up at her.  
“Sure it is.” Varric said gruffly. “Sort of.”  
“Friendship is looking out for one another because you give a damn whether that person is happy, whether they live or die.” Cassandra began.   
“How many of those kind of friends you got, Seeker?”   
She found his face difficult to read.   
“Not many,” she admitted softly.   
“Anyway,” Varric continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “I fucked up. And I want you to forgive me. I need you to forgive me.” He shrugged helplessly.   
“Why?” Cassandra wondered at the tone of his voice. He spoke as though this cost him. As though he didn’t seek forgiveness for his words or deeds very often.  
“Because I miss your friendship, Cassandra.” Varric scrubbed his palm over his rough jaw. He had almost grown a short blonde beard in the last weeks of travel. No straight razors in the desert. “I want you to care again whether I live or die.”  
Cassandra’s eyes suddenly stung. She took in a slow breath and let it out. “I care, Varric. If I didn’t … care … I wouldn’t have… “ She gestured, pausing.  
“Taken a swing at me?” His voice was wry.  
Cassandra pursed her lips thoughtfully. “No. I would have. But I wouldn’t have felt bad about it.”  
Varric’s sudden laughter brought a smile to her face. “Am I forgiven then?”  
Cassandra dragged a hand through her hair and realised of a sudden that she must resemble a drowned rat. The long length of her unbound braid slid forward over her shoulder. The corner of her mouth twitched when she saw his eyes flick down to follow the path of it, before catching himself and dragging his gaze back up to hers.   
“You are forgiven,” she said imperiously. “Now throw me my clothes. I have to wash them or they will be revolting come morning.”  
Varric tossed her the items and they splatted into the water.   
“See you in the morning, Varric,” she said. “Sleep well.”  
“You too.” Varric nodded, and turned to head back to the encampment.   
Cassandra watched him go. 

Varric was still awake when she came back to her tent. The flap of his was moving gently in the breeze. She was mostly naked, just in her small clothes. The sopping garments were slung over her shoulder. She spread them over the lines of her tent before ducking to enter.   
He closed his eyes.   
Maker’s breath.


	5. Dawn Will Come

“Stay safe.” Cassandra said softly to Varric as they prepared for the assault. The others were near, checking their equipment. Varric was setting caltrops into a leather pouch at his hip. The Inquisition forces had arrived under Cullen’s guidance, and the Commander and the Inquisitor were sharing a quiet moment somewhere.

He peered up at her curiously, a frown on his broad, battered features. “I still don’t understand why you aren’t coming with us.”

Cassandra shifted uneasily. “The Inquisitor wished to take Blackwall into Adamant. She believes that perhaps his presence will help convince the other Wardens.” She stared across the desert at the distant walls of Adamant, squatting low and menacing in the golden dunes.

Varrichitched Bianca over his shoulder. He held out his hand. “See you on the other side, Seeker.”

Cassandra set her hand in his, closing her fingers to clasp his hand firmly. But he rose it to his lips instead, brushing the lightest of kisses across her battered knuckles. She flushed and tugged her hand, unwilling to meet his gaze. So she missed the faintest grin that curved his lips. He enjoyed flustering her.

She cleared her throat, finally looking up. “See you on the other side, Varric.”

 

If there was a hell, Adamant was it. Cassandra ran across the battlements, held now by the Inquisition. Below they fought the demons that streamed from the massive rift through which .... No. She couldn’t think on it. They were coming back out. The Inquisitor. Blackwall. Alistair. Hawke. Varric. They would find a way.

She leapt over the side of the stairs, and met the claws of a demon with her blade, protecting a group of archers. She set her stance, shoving backwards, swinging her weapon in a vicious arc.

She sliced the head from a hunger demon. The howl cut short was like nails scraped down her spine. She turned to see where Cullen was. He had entered as she had, carving through the beasts with an economy of motion she admired. His agonised cry as Erien and the others had plunged into the rift spoke of his connection with the Inquisitor.

Her own had been silent, a scream in her head she didn’t let fly from her lips.

She was tiring, her arms burned, holding the shield aloft, her sword at the ready. She bled. And still the rift was silent. But she knew they were coming. She knew they were fighting to get back.

She could hear the calls of ‘Retreat!’ ‘Fall back!’, but still she would not. And Cullen beside her fought like a man possessed, blood splattered and gasping for breath.

 

It was lost. Adamant was lost. They had gambled and failed. The demons were driving them back. The Inquisitor was dead. They were all dead.

Cassandra was driven to a knee under the rush from a fear demon. An Inquisition soldier yanked an arrow from a nearby body, fitted the arrow and fired. The demon gave a high pitched squeal, and its fists came down on Cassandra’s shield again. The battered armour gave way and rent in two. She barely caught the next blow on her sword. The soldier died as a rage demon ripped his head from his body.

She couldn’t see Cullen. Was he dead?

The demon opened its slavering jaws. Cassandra lifted her aching arms and drove her sword into its throat. It pitched forward. She stared at its back. Several darts projected from the pale, sticky skin. She swallowed, her throat dry, and looked up at the massive rift.

Green light flared as a tall, slender woman held her hand to the skies.

Erien was alive. She had come through. Blackwall was laying a wounded Alistair to the ground. Iron Bull stumbled through, still swinging his war axe, a howl of anger on his lips. And Varric?

He was on one knee, lowering Bianca. And the look of despair on his face brought a small sound to her lips. Cassandra scrambled to her feet. The rift closed with that echoing boom that had become so familiar.

She stumbled forward on unsteady legs, blood dripping from her fingertips from a wound on her arm.

“Where is the Champion?” Her voice was hoarse.

Varric’s chin dropped to his chest. Erien shook her head, pressing a hand to her chest as though it suddenly ached. “Hawke died trying to fix what the Grey Warden’s did.” Her voice was bitter as she laid her other hand on Varric’s shoulder.

“The Champion is gone.” Cassandra’s eyes stung. It couldn’t have been possible. If someone could win, it should have been Hawke.

 

Erien’s anger could have flayed flesh. The Wardens of Adamant had laid down their weapons at the feet of the Inquisition. She had told them they would now fight for the Inquisition. They would fight the demons and they would atone for all the hurt they had caused, not sent to exile only because of the debt Thedas owed them for duties past.

That night there were grand bonfires that soared sparks into the skies. There was music, hunters had brought in meat and it roasted over firepits vast enough to feed entire armies.

Cassandra had been to the healers, much against her will, but Cullen had insisted. She now bore bandages over her wounds and salves across her bruises. Impatiently, she had submitted to the ministrations but now she strode through the encampment. Soldiers greeted her with cheers, for the woman who had fought alongside the Commander, holding the line so that the Inquisitor could get through. She accepted the cheers with a nod and a brief smile, her eyes searching each campfire for the man she had need to speak with.

He was nowhere to be found. She had to ask Bull. The big qunari was rollicking drunk, though there was a darkness to his gaze that had her wanting to ask if he was alright, though she knew he would not appreciate the question. Better to let him find a willing bed partner and chase away the shadows with temporary passion. Bull gestured up to the battlements with a slosh of his mug, before turning back to his admiring audience as he told the tale of the Fade once again.

Cassandra glanced up at the battlements, though she could see nothing beyond the fires.

 

“I couldn’t find you down there.” Cassandra approached. Varric was leaning on the edge of the battlement, staring out into the darkness of the desert. At the sound of her voice, his head bowed.

“I wasn’t up for company.” His tone was bleak.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Cassandra hesitated and then turned. He was grieving, she would respect his wishes. “I will go.”

“Please stay.” He straightened and turned around. “I could do with a friend.”

Cassandra nodded slowly and moved to seat herself on an armament crate beside him. She was weary, her aches crying for rest, but she couldn’t. Not yet.

Varric frowned at her wince as she lowered herself. “You are wounded.”

Cassandra shook her head. “It isn’t bad. I have had worse.” She met his gaze and smiled slightly. “I do not look forward to the return journey.”

Varric glanced over the light linen shirt covering her swathed chest, her grimy leather pants that she hadn’t had the energy to remove. He seemed satisfied she was otherwise alright when he leaned back against the cold stone, fidgeting with the set of thieves tools on his belt.

“Are you alright?” she broke the silence with the soft question.

Varric made a rumbling sound in his chest. “Not really.”

She held out a hand, palm up. He took it gently, careful of the bruising across her wrist. He scowled at it. The shield breaking had done the worst of that damage. She squeezed his hand to make him look up.

“Tell me,” she said.

“She sacrificed herself.” Varric’s voice broke. She enfolded his broad hand in both of hers. He scrambled for composure. “A fear demon. Monstrous. It was going to get through. It was going to kill us all and get through the rift. She said she would hold it off, though Alistair insisted he should be the one. That the Grey Wardens had caused this. But she bloody well wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He covered his eyes with his hand, silent tears coursing his cheeks.

Cassandra tugged his hand, drawing him into the vee of her legs. She let go of his hand, placed her hands on his shoulders, and pulled him forward. He wrapped his arms around her body and laid his brow upon her shoulder. He wept and she held him. Her palms soothingly stroked the tense muscles of his back. Her cheek rested on the surprisingly soft strands of his bound hair. It was untidy and smelled of the oasis water and sweat. She laid a hand on the back of his head and drifted through the strands.

The storm of tears slowed and finally stopped, but he did not yet pull away. It was only when a loud three cheers went up from the celebration below, that he drew back. Her hands rested on his shoulders again, his were on the crate, bracketing her thighs.

Flickering guard fires cast his face into shadow and light. She reached up with uncertain fingers and touched his furrowed brow. Her thumb traced the arch of his eyebrow, then brushed aside the last of his tears. Her fingertips were gentle on the hard line of his jaw. He was watching her warily.

“You’re a good man, Varric.”

The corner of his mouth lifted a little, despite his sorrow. “Not words I thought would come out of your mouth, Seeker.”

“It surprised me too,” she said wryly, dropping her gaze to his lips. “Don’t let it get around.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he murmured. “They would call me a liar.”

Cassandra placed her palms on either side of his face, lowered hers and kissed him gently, sweetly. Just the brush of her lips against his. There was none of the desperation of their first kiss, the sense of ‘right place, right time’. She was _kissing_ him. She was kissing _him_. He didn’t even move his hands from the crate, though his knuckles went white. She drew back after a few seconds. Their breaths mingled.

“You are a confusing woman, Cassandra Pentaghast,” Varric muttered.

“You confuse me, Varric Tethras.” She slid her hands from his face to rest palms splayed against his chest. “I’m sorry about Hawke. I think I understand what she meant to you.”

Varric wrapped a hand around one of hers. “Her loss makes my heart ache. She was a good friend. So thank you.”

Cassandra nodded, her eyelashes shadowing her eyes as she glanced down, sudden awareness of their proximity stiffening her spine with awkwardness.

“Cassandra?” Varric asked after a moment.

She met his gaze. “Yes?”

He searched her expression. “I’m not wrong, am I? This? Between us? Whatever it is?”

“No.” Cassandra shook her head. “You aren’t wrong.”

Varric nodded slowly. “Good. I don’t like being wrong.”

 

The sound of the minstrels washed over them, the song that had become the heart of the Inquisition, it’s beating pulse. Voices lifted all over Adamant.

 

_The night is long_

_And the path is dark_

_Look to the sky_

_For one day soon_

_The dawn will come_

 

 


	6. Interlude

Cassandra stretched and yawned. Sun poured in through the open window of the room, golden and carrying with it the promise of spring, even up here in the mountains. A heavy arm lay across her stomach and as her movements disturbed him, Varric tightened his hold.   
“Don’t go yet.” His entreaty was murmured into the back of her neck, his breath a warm wash over her bare back.  
“I have to.” She wriggled around in his arms, and brushed a kiss over his lips. He cracked a tired eye and peered at her. “You know I have to.”  
“But I only just got to bed. It’s not fair.” His fingertips traced light patterns on her ribs.  
“You shouldn’t have stayed up all night writing.” Cassandra touched his cheek with her rough fingertips.   
“Mmmph.” His hand slid up her back.   
She shivered. Considered. And sadly had to be strong. She had to get back to her rooms.  
“You really are an appalling morning person,” she said, extending one long leg over his thighs to scrambled out of his bed. It was pushed against the wall, so he could see the mountains in the morning. The statement amused her.   
“Morning is for those who have nothing to do the night before,” Varric scoffed, his broad palms resting lightly on her thighs as she straddled him.   
“A lot of people have sex and still get up in the morning.” She leaned down, kissed him.  
“I wasn’t referring to sex.” Varric’s voice went a little husky as both of his hands splayed over her back and kept her near just for a little longer. “But if you want to make it worth my while waking up this early...”  
“Tempting as that is,” Cassandra sighed, layering her hands on his solid chest, resting her chin on the back of them. “While we are figuring what this is, I don’t want everyone else speculating.”  
Varric studied her expression for a moment. She went very still as Varric lifted a hand to her temple and slid his fingers into the ruffled strands of her hair. Her braid dropped over her shoulder and whacked him in the face. He choked with laughter and brushed aside the dark rope of hair.   
She was smiling down at him.  
“By the Maker, you are beautiful,” Varric said softly.  
A rosy flush travelled from her chest up to her cheeks. “Now that’s just bullshit.”  
“I might write bullshit on occasion, Seeker.” He trailed his nails down her thighs. “But I, once in a while, choose not to speak it.”  
Cassandra cleared her throat, disentangled herself from the bed. She yanked her linen shirt over her head and it skimmed into place over her hips.   
“Where the hell are my pants?” She turned in a half circle.  
“I think I tossed them over near the fireplace,” Varric said with a self satisfied grin, linking his hands behind his head.  
Cassandra had plucked the leather breeches from their precarious position over the chair beside the hearth. She turned to look at Varric.   
The look in his eyes as he studied the long drift of her thigh, the curve of her breast and then finally, the warmth as he smiled when he met her eyes.   
The pants slithered to the floor from uncaring fingers. She strode to the bed with three swift steps, enjoying the surprise on the dwarf’s face. She so rarely got to surprise him. Her hand pressed into the mattress beside his head. Her leg slid between his and she lowered down until her lips were a breath from his. Her voice was low as she murmured:  
“One shot, Storyteller...convince me.”  
The only sound was a gasp and a distinctly girlish laugh as long, coltish limbs briefly tangled with golden sunlight, followed shortly by a silvery sigh of desire.

Cassandra closed the door of Varric’s quarters and with a quiet snick and turned around to virtually skip down the stairs with a smile on her lips. As she neared the base, she slowed her steps, smoothed her expression and strode confidently along the battlements.   
She hesitated when she saw Dorian, book in hand, sprawling insolently on a bench in the cool morning air. His lips curved in a smile, and his eyes sparked with mischief.  
“Good morning, Seeker. A nice morning for a walk on the battlements?”  
Cassandra hesitated, propping a hand on her hip in an awkward attempt to gain control of the situation. “Just...fine.”  
There was a moment of silence and Cassandra turned to go, heading for her own quarters and silently cursing Varric’s … persuasiveness.   
“If you see Varric, tell him that I think he has mice!” Dorian called after her. “I swear I heard something squeaking in his rooms this morning.”  
Cassandra turned a furious gaze upon Dorian. “Bloody...Tevinter…”  
Dorian scrambled to his feet, holding up his hands in surrender, a brilliant grin. “I won’t say a word, Seeker, I promise.”  
“You had better not, you sneaky bastard.”  
Dorian lowered his hands and looked remorseful. “I didn’t realise you were so ashamed, hiding this little fling with our famous storyteller.”  
Cassandra raised a hand to her brow. “I’m not ashamed, Dorian. Maker take me. That would make me the worst kind of human.”  
Dorian frowned and studied Cassandra. “You really aren’t, are you? Why on earth are you hiding it then?”  
“Because I have no damn idea once all this is over, if it really means anything.” Her confession tripped over her tongue and once spake, she was horrified. She clapped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. “Maker take me.”  
When Dorian spoke again, his voice was gentle and held none of the teasing from earlier.  
“The Maker has some funny ideas about how to act in this world, Cassandra.”   
She opened her eyes, and met his. Their depths surprised her. She had always assumed him to be shallow, a little immature.  
“I won’t say anything. I promise.” Dorian lowered himself down to his seat and picked up his book. “I know how to keep a secret.”  
“Thank you, Dorian.” Cassandra hesitated. “Are you alright?”  
“Of course,” Dorian beamed at her again. But she had seen those eyes.  
She frowned a little. But nodded. Secrets, hidden pain and hesitation.   
“See you later. I believe we are to attend Halam Shiral with the Inquisitor.”  
“So I understand.” Dorian bowed his head. “Good day, Seeker.”  
Cassandra nodded again, and headed down the stairs into the depths of Skyhold.


	7. Halamshiral Shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows the events at Halamshiral, I didn't really want to dwell because it has no real bearing on the interactions between Cass and Varric. So, I will let you fill in with your head what occurred.

Varric tugged at the tight neckline of the official uniform of the Inquisition. Red. At least it was a good colour. But the damn collar was strangling him.

“Stop fidgeting,” Dorian said under his breath.

“You want me to stop breathing too?” Varric grumbled, and stilled when Cassandra stepped in front of him. Her fingers touched his chin, beckoning him to lift it. She adjusted something and gave him a little more room.

He caught her hand briefly, and her lips curved in a faint smile.

“Oh spare me, you two.” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“Dorian,” Cassandra retrieved her hand, straightened the already pristine front of her tunic. “Shut up.”

“How does he …” Varric eyed Dorian, gesturing vaguely.

“He caught me leaving your rooms,” Cassandra shrugged. “And I’m a shit liar.”

“You two are just adorable wrapped in weird.” Dorian continued, looking sleek and handsome in his outfit.

“Dorian,” Varric crossed his arms over his chest and frowned in mock-fierce intimidation. “Shut up.”

Dorian just laughed.

The music soared overhead, buoyed by the whispers of curiosity and amusement.

“Did you see…?”

“Cassandra Pentaghast is here. I never thought I would see the like!”

“Dwarf…. *snicker* ….”

“And those red jackets! Adorable!”

“Isn’t that the scion of House Pavus? And he is with the Inquisition? How droll.”

“Have you seen the one they call ‘Herald of Andraste’? So ...common. I think she sprinted past me muttering something about halla statues. If this is the way this Inquisition acts, well now…”

Varric strolled through the crowd, keeping an eye on the other red coats in the area. Groups opened up to him, and he joined with a ‘hail fellow well met’ joy. He regaled them with intrigued tales of the Inquisition, the excitement of the Herald facing down Corypheus and Haven, the narrow escape, the mighty towers of Skyhold. Where he went, smiles followed, eyes sparkling with intrigue.

After an hour, he joined Cassandra at the top of the stairs where she stalked with a frown.

“You are good at this,” she said flatly, leaning on the balustrade, folding her arms while staring down at the butterfly maids and their no less colourful escorts.

Varric curled his hands around the wooden balustrade, the side of his hand brushing her elbow. “It’s a gift.”

Cassandra snorted. “A gift for bullshit.”

“Well, you fell for it.” Varric grinned, flicking her elbow with his little finger.

Cassandra cleared her throat. “Have you seen Erien?”

“She went out to the courtyard near Dorian. I just assume she is getting into trouble, thus requiring our assistance.” Varric curled his fingertips around Cassandra’s, hidden beneath the curve of her arm.

“We will be ready,” Cassandra murmured.

“I should head back down. Pay attention.” Varric showed little inclination to move.

“You should.”

“Dance with me later.” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t dance.” Cassandra said flatly.

Varric tugged at her fingers, and gave the half smile that did strange things to her stomach.

“Maybe,” she relented.

The Grand Duchess stood tall and icy proud before the court. Her crimes were revealed in flat, blunt tones by Erien, flanked by armed and armoured Dorian, Varric and Cassandra. Varric held his crossbow lazily, albeit with the faintest hint of menace that a mere twitch of a finger would have a deadly bolt flying.

When Erien turned sarcastic, Varric murmured out of the corner of his mouth, “Bravo. I didn’t think she had it in her.”

Cassandra ignored him, merely kept her hand resting on her weapon.

When Florianne left weeping between two armed guards, Erien’s voice rang out, “Your Imperial Majesty, I think we should speak elsewhere.”

The elegant woman gestured.

Varric blew out a breath. “Well I’m glad that didn’t end in more blood.”

Dorian took on a relaxed stance, leaning on his staff. He smiled around at the fascinated courtiers. “Well, if the Inquisition wanted to make a splash in the Game, I do believe we have succeeded.”

The orchestra struck up a lively tune, and the dancing began again. Couples flitted around in intricate circles that were a puzzle to Cassandra. It was almost like a conversation. Dorian accepted the hand of Josephine, the two made an elegant picture as Dorian deftly guided Josephine through the steps, her own hand as light as a butterfly kiss in his.

Varric handed Bianca to an Inquisition guard. He wiped his palms on the thighs of his breeches. The dark silk of his armour, heavily embroidered in silver, did not look so out of place here, but Cassandra was clearly awkward now, her battered armour and gambeson making her look even plainer than the richly appointed guardsmen.

Varric held out his hand and bowed. “My lady.”

“Varric …” Cassandra shook her head, taking a step back. But he was quick. He caught her hand.

“Trust me not to let you trip, Seeker.” Varric bowed over her hand as any adept courtier might.

Cassandra shifted from one foot to the other. An Inquisition guardsman appeared at her elbow.

“Shall I take your shield, ma’am?”

The shield was plucked from her suddenly nerveless fingers. Varric pulled her inexorably toward the ballroom floor. They drew many amused, curious glances.

“Varric, I’m not …” Cassandra’s voice trailed off, as she was pulled into the formal embrace of the dance she was about to take part in. Varric’s hand curved over her waist in familiar warmth.

“Are you ashamed to dance with me?” His sharp gaze met hers, curiosity in their depths.

“No, of course not,” Cassandra protested. “That’s not it.” She flushed, realising she had spoken too loud. She continued in a fierce whisper. “They are going to figure out very quickly that there is at least one Pentaghast who doesn’t know how to negotiate courtly graces with ease.”

Varric’s left hand engulfed hers, and with a lazy smile, he said, “Trust me, Seeker.”

Cassandra doubtfully nodded.

When the dance ended, Cassandra found herself oddly disappointed. She had only trodden on Varric’s toes once. Okay. Twice. No, three times. But he hadn’t made a sound, had only squeezed her hand, looked at her with those laughing eyes and using the pressure of his hands, and once or twice his hips, to guide her through a simple version of the court dance.

“You dance like a princess born to it, Seeker.” Varric bowed deeply.

Cassandra grinned at him. “You are a terrible liar, Varric.”  
“I am an excellent liar,” Varric said airily, before cocking his elbow in her direction. “Now I believe it is time to depart this shin dig. I do believe we made our point.”

Cassandra tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, and swept out. She had a world class sweep. It brought to mind a duchess in long, trailing skirts, with her held head high, bearing jewels of the first water. It was easy to forget she was just wearing her familiar battle armour, the red coats the Josephine had arranged, now bundled somewhere upstairs.

Erien had danced with Cullen. He had held her close and they had danced. Her heart was light, and when she had kissed him thoroughly goodnight, she thought she might float right off into the night.

She wanted to talk to someone. She needed to talk to someone. This insane, mixed up day needed some kind of debrief. Cassandra. She would go find the Seeker and drag her out for a midnight supper or something. There must be something in the kitchens here.

She rapped quietly on the door to Cassandra’s quarters. There was no answer. Perhaps she was already asleep?

She turned the door handle without a sound and peered around. Perhaps she was just reading and didn’t hear?

What she saw made her cover her mouth before a sound escaped and she drew back sharply, her eyes wide with shock. She blinked.

No way that was what she had seen? They barely tolerated one another … didn’t they?

She peeked back around to be sure she wasn’t imagining things.

So much naked. Varric’s goldeny hued skin in the low candlelight contrasted with Cassandra’s long milky white limbs, which were currently straddling his lap. Her hands were clutching his broad shoulders, while his hands were firmly fixed to her backside. They were … Erien ducked back out of sight and carefully shut the door, certain they hadn’t seen her… they were definitely fucking.

Erien blushed, and stifled a giggle. She scampered down the hallway. Maybe Dorian was still awake?


	8. The Real Bianca

A/N Thankyou so much for all the lovely comments so many of you have left me, as well as those who have pushed that little heartshaped button. I’m so busy heading back to work (I’m an Australian teacher) that I have barely had time to write, but you have all touched me with your kind words. So while updates might be a little slower, they are coming!

Oh. And this bit is more descriptive of their sexytimes. I blame the red wine. The rest of you can blame me.

Chapter 8  
Cassandra strode beside Erien on her way from the war room. The massive hall was filled with people, all turning excitedly to study the Inquisitor.  
“Maker’s balls, I will never get used to this,” Erien muttered before bowing her head at the assemblage.  
“Maybe you should stop talking about … balls,” Cassandra murmured.  
“I can hurt you.” Erien smiled around gritted teeth.  
“So you want to talk about balls?”  
Erien made a low grumbling sound in her chest. Cassandra laughed, though it dissipated when they drew through the crowd. Varric was speaking to a woman. A dwarf. As they drew near, she could hear his laugh, and knew that this was someone special. He was looking at the dwarf, well...frankly, the way he had never looked at her. The spark of jealousy in Cassandra’s chest surprised her.  
“Inquisitor,” Varric greeted Erien first before turning his attention to Cassandra. “Seeker. This is Bianca Davri, a representative of the Dwarven Merchants Guild.”  
Oh. Cassandra watched a little numbly as he turned a beaming smile on Bianca. So this was Bianca. The real one.  
“I have to go speak with Cullen.” Cassandra nodded briefly at Bianca. “Good to meet you.”  
She strode off, exiting into the bright sunlight that glinted off her breastplate.  
She didn’t notice Varric watching her departure with curiosity in his eyes. 

Cassandra had enjoyed the down time. Really. Varric had gone with Erien, Bull and Dorian to re-enter Valammar. It should be a simple mission. They had already cleared it out a few months back.  
She shifted and tried to focus on the book she was meant to be reading. She sat in the shade, with her back to one of the spindly, soaring trees in the courtyard where she trained. The grass at her feet was dappled with sunshine, insects sang, and the increasing lightness of heart of Skyhold as memories of Haven faded and the sick grew well, made this a glorious afternoon.  
But she was edgy and the lines of her novel, a well thumbed favourite, were blurring together. Bianca. Bianca. Bloody Bianca. And Varric was in love with her. He was good at lying, but she was getting to understand his expressions fairly well now.  
Cassandra sighed and closed the book in defeat, and rubbed her brow with thumb and forefinger.  
“She questions the hurt. Wonders if it makes her less for the feeling of it. It’s all shiny in it’s newness, and that frightens her.” The voice floated from above. Cassandra scowled.  
“Cole, go the hell away.”  
“But you are too loud.”  
“Go where you can’t hear me then,” she snarled, scrambling to her feet.  
The lithe young … man? Spirit? Demon? … dropped down in front of her from his lofty perch on the walls, his bland features hidden beneath that ridiculous hat. “He softens you. And you make him want to be better.”  
“Cole, I swear to the Maker …” Cassandra swallowed against the lump that swelled in her throat.  
“I am only trying to help.” Cole’s voice was sad, and she felt a faint pang of guilt. She shoved it away. He was a forsaken demon that the Inquisitor kept around out of pity, damn it!  
“You aren’t helping, Cole.” Cassandra swiped a hand over her brow, closing her eyes.  
“I am sorry, Cassandra. I like Varric. He teaches me how to be human.”  
“Me too.” Cassandra sighed, dropping her hand.  
“He likes you very much.”  
“Mmm.” She hummed noncommittally.  
“You will see.” Cole nodded emphatically. 

The knock on her door was brief. She considered ignoring it, pretending she was asleep. Pretending she hadn’t been waiting since she had seen the riders entering Skyhold on dusk. Pretending she hadn’t been relieved when Bianca wasn’t with them. Which made her feel like hell.  
“I know you are in there, Cassandra.” His voice rumbled through the door.  
Cassandra sighed, and scrambled off her bed. Barefoot, she padded to the door, trying to smooth down the rumpled spikes of her hair. She unlocked the catch on her door and swung it open. She opened her mouth to speak. Closed it again and frowned. “What happened? What’s wrong?” She forgot what she was going to say. Varric looked … sad. Not devastated after the death of Hawke. Just … sad.  
“Can I come in?” He was trying for nonchalance, leaning on her doorframe with an indolent stance and his arms crossed lazily over his chest.  
Cassandra nodded and stepped back, unwilling to trust her voice.  
Varric strode in, and she could see in the droop of his shoulders that something was weighing on his mind. He headed for the low, sagging couch that sat before the fire that crackled low in the hearth and lowered himself down into it.  
In silence, she approached, and perched on the cushions beside him. He watched her somberly and held out his hand, palm up. Hesitating briefly, she took it, enfolding her long, cold fingers with his warmth. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles gently.  
“I missed you,” he said softly.  
“Varric …” she began.  
“You are spiky and bad tempered, Maker only knows, but I missed you.”  
Cassandra narrowed her eyes. This wasn’t quite the reunion she had expected. “Varric.” She couldn’t keep the edge of annoyance from her tone.  
The sound of it lifted the corner of his lips. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So when I say what I’m going to say next, I want you to keep that in mind.”  
Cassandra stilled, and went to tug back her hand. But Varric held it fast. She wanted to withdraw, needed to withdraw. If this was going to hurt, he couldn’t touch her. She couldn’t deal with anyone touching her.  
“I guess you figured out that Bianca, the real Bianca, is someone from my past.” His bright gaze met and held hers. “She and I … for a time … were complicated.” He huffed a soft laugh. “As complicated as it gets. She was married off by her family, and things became less complicated.”  
Cassandra tried to remove her hand from his again. He missed her? She was to remember that?  
“Wait,” Varric entreated, “Let me finish, Seeker.” His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand. “Please.”  
Cassandra stared down at their hands, and nodded.  
“She gave the keys to Valammar to a Grey Warden Commander.”  
Cassandra’s head snapped up. “What?”  
Varric sighed. “She didn’t know Larius was possessed, but yeah.”  
Cassandra’s hands went to her brow. “And she told you this?”  
“Eventually.”  
“Where is Bianca now?” Cassandra’s voice was quiet and smooth.  
“On her way back home.”  
Cassandra closed her eyes. “I see.”  
The touch on her cheek was gentle. “What’s going on in that head?”  
“You were in love with her.” She couldn’t open her eyes. Not yet.  
“Yes.”  
Varric was blunt and it sliced her to the core. It stunned her how much that it hurt.  
“Alright.” Cassandra nodded, and shrank back when his palm cupped his cheek. “Don’t touch me. Please. Not right now.”  
“Cassandra. Look at me.”  
Silence descended but for the crackling of the hearth.  
She opened her eyes and his earnest gaze was fixed on her face. His thumb brushed her lower lip. “I missed you, Cassandra.” He leaned forward, his gaze intent. “You. Your sharp words. Your sharper sword and the incredible sex we have. Bianca was a part of who I was. Not any more. When she left, I didn’t feel...anything. And that surprised me a little. But then I found myself wanting to be here. With you.”  
Cassandra flushed. Deeply. She could feel it rising in a heated tide over her chest. “Varric. I don’t…”  
“You don’t have to say a damn thing, Seeker.” His lips curved in that smile. “It is what it is.”  
Cassandra rose her fingertips to that mouth, that damnable frustrating mouth that that brought her anger, laughter and pleasure. And her lips followed her fingers. She kissed the corner of his mouth, his faint beard prickling her skin.  
Varric’s hand rested briefly on her knee and skimmed up, the soft linen of the loose pants she was wearing a barrier to his touch. His fingertips sought the hem of the loose white undershirt she wore as a nightshirt most of the time. And then he found her skin. Her pale, warm skin. The callouses on his fingertips sent shivers up her spine as he slowly caressed from hip, to waist and then splayed between her shoulder blades, pulling her closer.  
He slid toward her on the couch. Her long legs covered his lap while he leaned in to capture her lips in a fierce kiss. There was a tiny sound from her lips as his thumb whisked over her bare nipple, peaking it sharply, before it was covered by the warmth of his palm.  
Her breath gasped out into his mouth as his other hand slid into the dark strands of her hair and tugged her mouth closer.  
She trailed her fingernails over his chest, and skimming her hand inside his tunic, she discovered his nipple was as sharp as hers, and when she circled her forefinger over it, his breath hitched in her mouth.  
In retaliation his hand left her breast, and landed at her knee. His forefinger drew circles up her inner thigh, as the flat of his palm applied light pressure. The frisson through her pants had her making soft sounds in her throat.  
“I like these pants, Seeker.” Varric kissed the sharp angle of her jaw, before his very talented tongue tasted the soft hollows of her throat. “They have a whole ‘stay the fuck away from me’ feel about them. Which only makes me want to strip them off and fuck you speechless.”  
Cassandra couldn’t seem to catch her breath. When his thumb pressed against her clitoris and his fingernails scritched up and down her sex, she groaned.  
“Maker’s fucking balls, Varric.” She curled her fist into his tunic and yanked his mouth up to hers.  
He rumbled a soft laugh, and with a flex of his formidable arms, had her sprawled on the couch beneath him. With reverent fingers, he traced up under her shirt, the ridges of her abdomen his playground. His fingertips grazed beneath the cords of her waistband and she shivered.  
He delved into the springy hair at her groin, and explored the heated folds of her sex with deft, knowing fingers. Her thighs fell open with boneless need, her head tipping back over his forearm. Her arm closest to him was curved over his hip, her hand clutching at the folds of his tunic, her other hand was splayed over his neck as he stared down at her face, watching her every expression as he wrung every gasp and moan from her lips.  
Cassandra couldn’t stay still. When his finger slid into her, she whimpered and his mouth caught the delicious sound, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. His thumb circled her clit and she rocked against his hand, seeking the pressure that would take over over the edge.  
Varric took intense pleasure in watching her come apart in his arms. This lanky, foul tempered, wonderful woman was taking pleasure from him.  
When his lips slanted over hers, drinking of her moans, their tongues flicking and teasing as desire peaked, his thoughts swiftly scrambling. When her sex tightened on his fingers, and her back bowed off the cushions, he stilled and watched her ground herself again.  
Varric brought his fingers to his lips, and tasted of her sex. She curled into him and he could feel the wash of her breath over his chest, her lashes long and dark upon her flushed cheek. Her breathing slowed and evened out.  
“You are incredible, Cassandra.” His voice was a murmur against the top of her head, his arms a heavy weight around her lean body.  
“Mmm. You too.” Her lips pressed a sleepy kiss against his chest.  
“But after a week sleeping in those damn tents, I want to sleep in a real bed. Not this narrow damn couch.” He pressed a trail of kisses against her brow, then down to her nose. 

They made love during the night. It was slow and sensual, their bodies bathed in moonlight as she rode him with long, rolling strokes of her hips. His hands curved over her breasts, and when she collapsed, they splayed over her spine while he thrust a few times more to find his own release.  
Early dawn found him still in her bed. When he eased back the covers to slip out as had been their habit, her sleepy murmur stopped him.  
“Stay?”  
“What about the others?”  
“Fuck it. I don’t care who knows.” Cassandra blinked with adorable half-awakedness.  
Varric slipped back between the sheets, her long limbs entwining with his shorter ones. His arms drew her close with easy strength and she relaxed.  
“As the Seeker wishes,” he couldn’t keep the smile from his voice.  
“Ass.” She murmured before she slid under the deep ocean of sleep once more.


	9. Fuck True Love

“Will you not consider it, Lady Cassandra? The clerics are sequestered. If no one steps forward, they will debate until -” Mother Giselle’s voice stayed Erien. She had only glanced in the quartermaster’s rooms to see if Bull or Krem were around, and not seeing them, had turned to leave. But the strain in Cassandra’s voice stopped her.  
“And you think I could make them agree?”   
Erien hesitated. Should she intervene? Both women turned to look at her, Mother Giselle with her calm implacability, Cassandra with a set, troubled face. Cassandra turned back to the Chantry sister.   
“I have heard enough for one day, Mother Giselle.” Cassandra was polite, but firm.   
Mother Giselle hesitated, as though she wished to speak further, but deciding retreat was the preferable tactic, glided from the firelit room. She paused alongside Erien, long enough to murmur with the slightest hint of exasperation:  
“Talk to her, Your Worship.”   
“The fun never ends in Skyhold, does it?” Erien drawled, standing hipshot with a smile curving her lips.  
“When all this is over, they are going to say the Inquisitor was hilarious.” Cassandra replied drily, before sighing. “I assume you’ve heard that Leiliana and I are both candidates to be the next Divine. Because of what happened at Halamshiral, of course. The Empire favours you, thus everyone close to you. So now the Chantry bandies our names about without even asking us first.” Her voice strained with annoyance.  
“If you don’t want it, tell them so,” Erien frowned with confusion.   
“Leiliana doesn’t want it either. Peace in the Chantry could hinge on my acceptance.”  
“What about … you know?”  
“About?”   
“Varric?”  
Cassandra closed her eyes. “I don’t know…” She needed fresh air. She needed to clear her head and she needed time to think.

“That’s quite the job offer, Seeker,” Varric drawled, his arms folded, leaning against the doorframe at the entry to her room.   
Cassandra glanced up from her position on the same chair she had occupied earlier. Her lips quirked in a faint smile. “What? No snide comment about my suitability for a life of chasteness and servitude?”  
“Well, I can’t speak for your chasteness. Haven’t seen that in a good many months, but servitude is something that is innate in your very soul.” Varric strolled into the room then, his hands clasped behind him.   
She watched him curiously. “That doesn’t sound very complimentary.”  
“Oh, it is.” Varric nodded slowly. “It is. You dedicate your life to a purpose and you will serve that purpose unto death, I would suspect.”  
“Yes,” Cassandra drew up her leg and rested her foot on the edge of the chair. “Yes, that sounds like me.”  
“And you would make a superb Divine,” Varric said softly. “You know where it went wrong and you want to change it. You have in your heart the needs of the mages, and still believe in the goodness of the Templars despite everything. And now the opportunity is in your hands. You will have the power to make that difference.”  
“Yes. That is also true,” Cassandra agreed, staring sightlessly at the crumbling stone wall beyond his shoulder.   
Varric raised a hand to his abdomen and pressed his thumb into the hard ball of pain that had formed there when he had heard the news of the potential new Divine. And he knew what he had to do.  
“You should accept, Seeker,” he continued, keeping his tone light. “You would be the refreshing blast of light that mouldy old museum piece that is the Chantry needs.”  
“Do you think so?” Cassandra met his gaze then, and he, normally finding her easy to read, found her expression enigmatic. “You would support me if I decided to accept the position?”  
“Sure.” He nodded easily, ignoring the choking sensation in his chest. “I mean, we had a good thing going, but this is big. This is huge.”  
“A good thing?” The bleakness of her tone made him wince, but he kept that smile on his face.  
“Absolutely. Come on, Seeker. Once all this was over, you were going to head back and right wrongs and make the world a better place. And I will be getting back to reality creating wrongs and pretty much maintaining my ability to walk the wide and wobbly. We are in a rarified atmosphere at Skyhold. But come on, you have to look at this sensibly. The Chantry sure will look with a frown on their next Divine sneaking away to screw around with the dwarf writer of such literary gems as Swords and Shields.”  
Cassandra nodded slowly. “You are right. Of course you are right.” She couldn’t even look at him. “I have several missives to right. Good night, Varric.”  
Varric tucked his hands into the pockets of his breeches. “Right you are then. See you later, Seeker.”

The door closed behind him and Varric leaned back on it for a moment. He pressed his hand to his heart.   
Fuck. If this was doing the right fucking thing, it could go fuck itself.   
He was having trouble drawing a full breath his chest hurt so bad.   
The whole fucking lot of them needed her more than he did. But pound for pound, square inch for fucking square inch, he loved her a whole fucking load more than they did. And if they hurt her the way he had just done, he would rip their fucking lungs out.

The door of the tavern slammed open. A pale faced Inquisitor stormed in and strode right up to the table he was sitting at, morosely staring at an untouched tankard of ale.   
“What the fuck did you do?” she hissed.  
Varric jerked his head up and met her furious gaze. “What…?”  
“To Cassandra. What, by all that is fucking holy, did you do?”  
“Clean slate, Inquisitor.” Varric lifted his tankard to his lips, and sipped of the bitter brew, trying for nonchalance. “We could all do with clean slates.”  
Erien yanked the tankard away from him, sloshing the contents over her shoes. She flung it across the room and it smashed against the wall, bouncing off one of Bull’s horns, before clattering to a spinning halt in the suddenly silent room.   
“You fucking idiot.” Erien shook her head, and stalked out the way she had come.   
“Huh.” Krem spoke from over his right shoulder.   
Varric peered at the lad with faintly red rimmed eyes. “What? You got something to say too?”  
Krem held up both hands, his face a mixture of puzzlement and curiosity. “Nope. Not a word.”  
Varric scrubbed both hands down his face. “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think that Cassandra and Varric was going to go smoothly did you? You did? Aww, how sweet!
> 
> I have smushed canon a bit. I'm sorry about that. But I have a story to tell, damnit! 
> 
> PS. Did I mention that you are all awesome for sticking with me through this. I didn't think there were that many Cassric shippers out there! But I'm among friends!


	10. The Calm Before The Storm

“No regrets, Storyteller.” The Iron Bull sharpened his massive war axe as it gleamed lethally in his lap.

“I have a lot of regrets, Tiny.” Varric oiled Bianca’s mechanism.

“Don’t you think you should use this moment to, maybe, fix one or two of them?” Bull glanced significantly over to the tent where Cassandra was buckling on her breastplate.

“What’s done is done, Bull.” Varric stoppered the bottle and slipped it into his pack. “Shouldn’t go back over old ground. You know that.”

Bull frowned at Varric. “She’s not ‘old ground’, dwarf. She’s Cassandra. If she dies out there, are you gonna shed a tear?”

“Leave it, Bull.”

“Thought you were better than that, my friend.” Bull hefted his axe onto one meaty shoulder and lumbered easily toward the campfires.

Varric sighed. He propped Bianca against his pack and levered himself upright. He rammed his hands into his pockets and studied the woman who still held his heart in her calloused, scarred, beautiful hands. She was yanking on leather gloves with precise movements, the line between her brows now permanently etched there. He had had a significant role in putting that there. He wearily scrubbed his palm over his jaw, his beard rasping against his skin. He had been sleeping like crap.

Cassandra had this way of taking up space in his bed. She liked sleeping face down, arms flung out, stealing the blankets. As it turned out, he missed that like hell. The past couple of weeks had been lonely and cold. The others had figured something had gone wrong and were tiptoeing around both of them. Well, Bull was as blunt as it got. Dorian would just shake his head in pity. As for Erien, she was still angry with him. They hadn’t chatted over an ale since that hellish day. And it would seem that once this day was over, should they win it, Cassandra was leaving. Taking up the post of the Divine. He knew it was the right thing. It had to be the right thing.

He trudged over to Cassandra, and cleared his throat. She was kneeling, checking the straps of her shield and her hands stilled. She rose slowly to her feet, hesitating as she turned to look at him, her expression composed into one of serenity.

“Just wanted to say …” Varric’s hands rose and fell helplessly. “…Take care of yourself, Seeker.”

“You too, Varric.” Cassandra’s voice was very distant.

“I wish –“

“Don’t.” Her eyes flashed with heat and she held up a hand. “Just … don’t.”

Varric squinted at her, his eyes wrinkled as he flinched. “Right. Of course. Still. Be careful, and all that.”

Cassandra nodded. “I plan to.” She hefted up her shield and paused in her departure. “Will you return to Kirkwall when all this is done?”

“I don’t know. Probably. It seems kind of …small, after all this.”

She gave a small laugh, though there was an edge to it. “Yes, I suppose it must.” T

heir eyes met and held. Cassandra broke away first, turning to stride into the milling Inquisition forces.

* * *

 

They had won.

It was over.

While he cheered with all of them, a smile on his face, he knew all of it was over. It would never be the same again. He saw the Inquisitor sneak off with Cullen at one point, and accepted his own congratulations, the hugs and handshakes of old friends and new. Varric glanced over at a ruckus and smiled. Iron Bull had Cassandra in a clinch and was sweeping her in a wide circle, her legs flying. Her laughter, a rare sound lately, echoed around the room.

He stared down at his linked hands and took a quiet breath.

It was over.

A wave of sadness overwhelmed his heart.

He stared around the room. At the faces that had become dear to him. At the lean, handsome features of Dorian where he stood at Bull’s shoulder, smiling up at him as the big Tal’Vashoth wrapped an arm around his shoulder and kissed him fiercely on the lips, to the Tevinter’s blushing acquiescence. At Leiliana as she tossed back her hood and chatted animatedly with Josephine. Sera and Harding were tucked in a corner giggling over some gossip.

And he was here watching.

It was over.

* * *

 

She was gone. He knew that she wouldn’t say goodbye. Their goodbye had happened before the final battle. He tapped his pencil on the sheets of paper piled on his desk. He stared at the blank page, the next instalment of Hard in Hightown beckoning him. But he couldn’t get into that world.

He propped his chin on his hand and stared out of the window. He ran his thumb over the sharp angle of his jaw. He smiled, and put his pencil to paper.

 

_He was in love. For the first time in his life, he had looked into the face of justice, and when it looked back, it had bright golden eyes that pierced his soul and warmed his cold, criminal heart. His first words could have been a little more charming, he supposed._

_“Well, hello, gorgeous. If I had known the constabulary had folks like you on staff, I would have been caught much sooner.”_

_The answering sword at his throat cut off his breath and his inclination to incriminate himself._

* * *

 

Cassandra sat cross legged on her very austere bed. Her robes were tossed over a chair across the room and she sat on the bed in a heavily gold embroidered red silk shirt that hung off one shoulder. It was far too big for her, looking ridiculous on a frame that had lost condition in the past month or so where time working out and constant sorties into the countryside to kill demons, Venatori, irascible mages and/or Templars was a thing of the past.

She should be grateful.

A knock upon the door echoed around her sparsely furnished chamber. Cassandra sighed. She should be sleeping. Tomorrow she would speak the vows that would confirm her as Divine Victoria.

She would no longer exist.

Another knock roused her from her maudlin thoughts. She scrambled from the bed, and padded her way to the door, yanking open the portal and peering into the gloom beyond.

“By the Maker, Cassandra, what an appalling outfit.” The honeyed tones of Vivienne curled around her ears and left her stunned as the beautiful woman loomed from the shadows, her long, lean form clad in the height of fashion.

“Vivienne?” Cassandra glanced up and down the corridor. “What are you doing here?”

“Bringing you a present, my darling girl.” Vivienne approached and laid her hand upon Cassandra’s cheek. “Oh, so many tears shed. You poor thing.”

“I’m not sad,” Cassandra jerked her head back and frowned fiercely. “And what is this…gift?”

“I am the Inquisition’s representative for the vows of the new Divine, darling. Erien couldn’t make it and apologises sincerely. Some business about a marriage contract with her family.”

“Erien is getting married?” Cassandra scowled, and tried not to be hurt that she hadn’t been told.

“Of course. To that darling Commander of hers. Her family kicked up quite the fuss, you see. They didn’t understand why she could not have aspired a little higher. But true love must run it’s course, I suppose.” Vivienne said drily. “But she sends her love, and a gift.” The mage held out the cloth wrapped parcel.

“What is it?” Cassandra took the parcel, and turned it over. It bent heavily over her hands. A slip of folded card was tucked into a satin ribbon that bound the package.

Vivienne shrugged. “Something she said you would need and I had to make haste in its delivery. Goodnight, darling. I will see you tomorrow. How exciting. A new Divine.” Vivienne’s lips curled in a genuine smile. “Sleep well, my dear.”

Cassandra closed the door as Vivienne left. She tugged out the note. It was a simple scrawled missive typical of Erien:

_“Do read this. We send our love. Don’t be mad.”_

Cassandra smiled, her lower lip wobbling. She missed them. All of them. Messages had been brief as her days had been filled with meetings and introductions and instructions.

She missed him most of all.

She missed his warmth. His biting wit. His smile. His heart that was hers.

She sighed, and rolled the wrists back of the sleeves of his tunic. He had damnably long arms and she still loved him. She pressed her fingertips to her brow. No amount of praying had fixed that. No amount of entreating to Andraste had taken the pain from her heart. She sighed and tugged open the ribbons. The cloth fell back and she frowned at the twine bound sheaf of papers now sitting on her bed. She peered at the cover page.

**_The Templar and her Rogue_ **

She frowned, and yanked down the string that obscured the author's name. 

_ Varric Tethras.  _

His name brought at ache to her throat and the title a growing sense of dread. 

She tugged at the strings and turned to the first page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh. I hope you have enjoyed the journey :)


	11. Keep to the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with all things, this too must end. Thank you for coming on the journey. I hope you have enjoyed it. Your words of encouragement have kept me writing even when I have been tired. Thank you.

Chapter 11

 

Cassandra ground the heel of her hand into her eye. The scattered pages of the manuscript lay in drifts of paper around her bed. Sometime around three am she had stopped trying to keep it in order.

She stared out of the window at the dreary view of the courtyard of the Denerim Chantry. The skies overhead were dull with rain clouds in these early pre-dawn hours. The lanterns had grown low, guttering in their metal brackets, the last of the oil feeding the flames. Her eyes felt gritty. She hadn’t slept.

It was their story.

The trappings were ridiculous. Templars and thieves. Foolishness. But the beating heart of it, the soul of it, was them. And it made her want to weep.  She stared down at the final page crumpled in her hands. She read the final page again.

 

_“I love you.”_

_“What?”_

_He got a kick out of the expression on her face. He always got a kick out of the expression on her face. He knew every scar, every frown, every smile. It was as familiar to him as his own._

_“I love you,” he repeated, and reached out to brush his thumb over her lips._

_“You aren’t amusing, Gabriel.” Her voice was irritated as she scraped a strand of her away from her brow, tucking it behind her ear._

_“For once in my life, sweetheart…” His smiled faded, his eyes softened. “…I’m telling the absolute, honest truth.”_

_The confusion cleared from her eyes. “You love me?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“When the hell did this happen?”_

_“Oh, it crept up on me slowly. One day, you just crawled into my heart and stayed there.” He sighed. “You are a disruption to my calm and peaceful nature, Templar.”_

_She snorted her amusement and he smiled. Her hand rose and pressed against his chest. He caught it in his own, suddenly aware of his heart pounding in his chest._

_“Well?” He asked. “What do you think of that?”_

_She smiled at him. A new smile._

_“Allegra?” She still hadn’t spoken._

_But when she did, he received the words he didn’t know he had been waiting all his life to hear._

She had searched the bed, desperate for the ending, and it had taken many long minutes and several non-Divine approved swear words before she realised there was no final page. That was it.

The dawn was insipid, trying to eke some cheer into the grey of the Denerim skies. She closed her eyes and let the cold air wash over her face. The third candle she had lit so she could keep reading through the dark hours of the night guttered and went out, the merest wisp of smoke a memory of the warming flame.

She turned her head and stared at the gleaming robes she would don this evening. They hung in heavy silken folds from their hanger. She ran a hand through hair that had grown into an uneven cap of shaggy coils in the last months. The insignia of the Chantry embroidered in heavy metallic thread on the breast gleamed in the low, sulky light of her austere room. Her heart ached in her chest.

 

Vivienne picked up the folded notepaper on the desk. She studied the room, the bare furnishings, the lack of tapestries on the walls and shuddered. She took in the unmade bed, the burned down candles, the empty closet. And finally her eyes rested with distaste on the chaste robes that hung limply from the open door of the closet.

She pursed her lips and opened the fold of paper. She wouldn’t allow herself a laugh when she read the contents but her serene features relaxed into a smile.

“Oh Lady Inquisitor, you clever, clever girl.”

She tucked the paper into a pouch on her belt.

She had some news to break to the Chantry sisters.

 

The banners above Skyhold were a bright beacon in the mountains. Spring sunshine was golden with only the faintest hint of warmth.  The air smelled sweet.

Varric saw none of it. He had seen out the night writing the tale of the Inquisition and sat morosely at his desk, unsatisfied and irritated at the pathetic prose now scrawled on the pages in front of him. He raised a hand to his brow and pressed against the low throbbing that had started around midnight and hadn’t relented.

A sharp whistling had him groaning and leaning his head back on his chair, the sharp edge of the back digging into the back of his skull.

“Rise and shine, Storyteller.” Dorian’s bright tones had him sighing. The mage was insufferable in recent days. Erien had given him an entire section of Skyhold to turn into a library to rival any in the Imperium. Between that and the obvious devotion Bull showered on him daily was making him a grade A jackass.

“Go away, Sparkles, I’m not in the mood.” His voice was raspy with lack of use and lack of sleep.

“Not a chance.” The door banged open. “Our lovely leader wishes your recalcitrant ass in the reception hall.”

“What for?” Varric scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Who knows.” Dorian picked up and wrinkled his nose at the plain tunic piled on the floor. “Where on earth is your tunic? You used to dress a little better.”  
Varric rose to his feet and rubbed his fingertips over his chest, the plain white of his undershirt lifting with his shrug. “Lost in the laundry.”

“Huh.” Dorian pursed his lips and tossed aside the tunic. “Not befitting the author of such epics as Swords and Sandals.”

“Swords and Shields,” Varric gritted his teeth as he yanked his shirt over his head.

“Whatever.” Dorian flicked his fingers. “Just hurry up.”

 

Varric had his hands rammed into the pockets of his breeches as he mounted the steps up to the main reception hall. Throne room, he supposed, though Erien had only ever taken that ugly throne to cast judgement on some poor deluded soul.

Erien stood chatting to Josephine and turned to beam at him. He paused.

She hadn’t beamed at him in …well… since before.

“I am here as commanded, Your Inquisitorialness.”

“Varric,” Erien approached, laid her hand on his shoulders and leaned forward. Her voice dropped low , beyond the hearing of the gathering watching them. “If you fuck this up, I swear I will strangle you.”  
Varric stared up at the woman, startled. Erien stepped back.

Varric caught the sharp, intelligent eyes of a woman he thought he would never see again.

“Cassandra…” he murmured. She was here. He took a step forward, then a second before hesitating.

She approached him, the same, but different. Her hair was longer. She hadn’t been sleeping. He studied her face in concern.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, bewildered.

“Unfinished business.” Her voice was sharp. “We need to talk.”

Varric glanced around at the avid eyes watching them. He swallowed, his heart pounding. She sounded angry, but there was something in her eyes he couldn’t read. She stalked off, clearly expecting him to follow.

He stared dazedly after her. Erien swam into his peripheral vision and her voice was gentle.

“Talk to her, Varric. Be honest, for your own sake.”

 

Cassandra had yanked open the door toward the war room. He followed, tripping on a subtle fold in the massive carpets that softened the ancient stonework. She stood before the fire in Josephine’s empty office. Ruffles had met his glance on his way past, and her small smile of encouragement had just caused his heart to pound harder.

“Shouldn’t you be praying to the Maker for absolution for your sins about now?” The tone came out more mocking than he intended. He instantly regretted when she swallowed and cast her gaze away. “Shit, Cassandra. I’m sorry. Maker’s breath.” He cast his hand over his eyes.

“That was unworthy.” Cassandra’s voice was soft.

“Yes. It was.” Varric approached slowly, and leaned back on Josephine’s desk, needing the sturdy support all of a sudden. Cassandra’s tall, lean figure was surrounded by a nimbus of light from the fireplace. She was ethereal and untouchable.

Silence echoed.

Cassandra broke it first. “I should have spoken my vows a week ago.”

Varric blinked. _What_?

Cassandra turned to face him, her gaze steady. “I read something interesting. Something that Erien sent me.”

She pulled a crumpled, many times folded sheaf of paper from her coat.  Varric clenched his hands over the edge of Josephine’s desk. He wondered that it didn’t creak in protest.

“The last page was missing.” She was studying the writing, then lifted her gaze, met his, took the few steps toward him and held out the page. Even though he knew precisely what it said. He had written it after all.

“What did the Templar say?” Cassandra asked quietly.

Varric broke her gaze and lowered his chin to his chest. She wore riding leathers still. Worn and stained. She hadn’t changed since her arrival.

“Varric. I love you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He made a small sound in his chest. Somewhere between a groan and a cry.

“That’s what the Templar said.” Her voice broke and his head snapped up. Tears made her eyes luminous and his heart broke anew. “That’s what I should have said.”

“Cassandra.” His voice was thick, and his hands were white-knuckled with the effort not to reach for her.

“No. This time it’s my turn.” Cassandra held up her hand. Her eyes were bright on his, her expression serious. “I read your novel. Erien sent it to me. It’s the most ridiculous thing you have written.” The corner of her mouth quirked. “So of course I read it in one night.” She shifted awkwardly. “Except for that one page. That was Erien giving me a very unsubtle message. I pride myself on not being an utter moron and I understood it. I never told you how I felt. And before I took vows that would stay any words that weren’t first mulled over a dozen times, I had to speak these words.”

Varric took a shuddering breath.

“I love you. It’s simply that. You frustrate the _hell_ out of me. You have no appropriate reverence for the Maker or Andraste, but you are best man I know. You write appalling literature, but I can’t stop reading it. You can make me gasp for breath when you touch me, and you walked away. But I love you. I had to tell you. I had to be honest. No amount of praying to Andraste or the Maker has gotten you out of my system.”

Her eyes were fierce and he couldn’t look away.

“So I hope that is what your rogue planned on hearing, otherwise you need to go back and write that damn ending again.” Her jaw clenched, her eyes drowned in the agony of her honesty.

“I’m like half a person without you near me.” His voice was hoarse from the effort of choking back the emotion that slammed into him at her words.  “I can’t sleep. I can’t write. I can’t damn well live without you near me.”

She held out her hand, palm up.

He curved his hand around hers, their fingers entwining.

“Then don’t.” Her statement was simple. Very her. She tugged him toward her.

“What about the Chantry?” He touched her hip gingerly at first, then splayed his hand over her back.

“They can find someone else.” She touched his cheek with her fingertips, then skimmed her fingernails into his hair. She paused. “Don’t ever break my heart again.” She bent down to bring her lips to his.

“Kick my arse if I’m an idiot again.” He said, a breath away.

Her lips curved in a smile. Her first. “Your arse is going to be very sore.”

“Kiss me first then?” He entreated.

Their lips met. Months of pent up need and want simmered.

 

Erien met Cullen’s gaze. “You think we should go in there? Make sure there is no bodily harm?”  
“Hell no,” Cullen shook his head, horrified.

“It wasn’t that bad, Curly,” Iron Bull rumbled, dropping a massive arm over Cullen’s shoulders. “But you should remember to knock first.”

“Bull, no offence, but I never want to see that ever again,” Cullen stated emphatically, but didn’t shrug away. He grinned at Erien’s laughter.

Erien stepped forward, brushed a kiss over Cullen’s lips, a gesture he now accepted in public without blushing furiously.

“Leave them be,” The Iron Bull rumbled, and smiled over at the Tevinter mage that sauntered into the reception hall. “I have a feeling that it will all be alright.”

 

Erien curled against Cullen’s warmth later that night, his arms a comforting brace against the night terrors that took her once in a while. She had woken a few moments ago, but his murmur of comfort and familiar scent had quieted her. Not willing to wake him she just lay quietly, staring up at the stars through the hole in the roof she had begged him not repair.

 

Dorian sleepily turned over in Bull’s embrace, his lean, handsome features pressing against Bull’s chest whilst his palm propped under his cheek. Bull’s hand splayed over Dorian’s bare back.

Bull smiled. At last he was at peace.

 

Cassandra stretched and startled as her arm thwacked against a solid, warm chest only inches away that grunted a moment later. Her lips curved in a smile when a muscular arm wrapped around her midriff and drew her close.

“We need a bigger bed,” Varric muttered darkly, his eyes barely open.

She ran her fingertips over his ribs and down the lean curve of his butt. “I’m game.”

He growled low in his throat, and with a manoeuvre that surprised her, he shifted and settled into the crux of her thighs, his mouth inches above hers, his gaze fixed steadily. “Is it morning?”

Cassandra glanced toward the window and the orb of the moon glowed brightly in the night sky, casting her austere features into a play of shadow and light that he studied with a smile.

“Hours yet,” she murmured, her pale skin glowing in the reflected glory of that heavenly body. She turned back to meet his gaze. She reached up and curved her hand over his cheek, her palm prickling with the familiar touch of his beard.

Varric’s hand skimmed up her thigh, into the crook of her knee and he ground himself against her just once. “Tired?”

“Not even close.” She wrapped her long legs around his hips and met his kiss with one of her own.

When he slid into her a few minutes later, she sighed, then groaned. And when his lips took hers, she whimpered. “Oh, Varric….”

“I love you…” he mouthed, barely above a whisper as his body moved in the dance she had not known she had missed so badly.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders. “I love you too.”


End file.
